


can i beat within your heart

by LoveWithAGirl



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Families of Choice, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 01:29:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17778011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveWithAGirl/pseuds/LoveWithAGirl
Summary: There are no colors in Xhorhas, she wants to say as Caduceus makes a small pit in the wall that they can fit more of Caleb’s bubble into.There are no flowers except the ones I carry in my book and on my skin, the only colors you will see will be muted plant life and blood, we must hide our colorful friends or we will lose them to this wasteland.Yasha says none of it, just stands and waits and listens to her friends, alive around her.(And the ghosts, oh, the ghosts of her soulmates always at her peripheral, Zuala and Mollymauk, haunting her so that she does not forget, will not forget, cannot forget).





	can i beat within your heart

**Author's Note:**

> “And I can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t sit still or fix things and I wake up and I wake up and you’re still dead” - Richard Siken
> 
>  
> 
> This is canon compliant through episode 50, so beware of spoilers if you're not up to date!

 

It’s dark, in the tunnels, even with Caleb’s rag covered light and Jester’s reflective eyes that catch the glare and Caduceus lighting up whatever crystals he sees.

It’s dark, and the air is thick, and they are going back to Xhorhas, back to Yasha’s home country, back to where she fell in love and watched her wife get slaughtered and lost time and herself and found a god that she doesn’t understand.

Yasha knows that she is lucky that the others already think of her as very quiet, because she can’t bring herself to speak for most of the time they have been traveling so far. The words she sometimes tries to form feel too heavy on her tongue, clumsy inside her mouth, and it is easier to let them die and keep pushing on, pushing forward, to remind herself she is doing this for Nott, for her friend, to save her spouse like Yasha could not save her own.

Jester and Caduceus watch with clever eyes as Yasha eats as little as she can, but Caduceus says nothing and all Jester does is curl her tail around Yasha’s wrist or ankle like Molly used to. It’s an anchor to the world that Yasha still does not know if she belongs to.

They run to avoid fire giants, and they almost lose Nott, and they keep running, until there is no sound behind them, no sound in front of them, just heavy breathing all around her, a stitch along her side that she’s pushing through, her friends leaning against walls and slumping onto the floor and agreeing that it’s time to camp, that they are safe, that they can sleep. Yasha nods in agreement, does not know how to say that this is just the start, that once they finally come above ground again it will only be worse, running and hiding and fighting for their lives.

_ There are no colors in Xhorhas,  _ she wants to say as Caduceus makes a small pit in the wall that they can fit more of Caleb’s bubble into.  _ There are no flowers except the ones I carry in my book and on my skin, the only colors you will see will be muted plant life and blood, we must hide our colorful friends or we will lose them to this wasteland. _

Yasha says none of it, just stands and waits and listens to her friends, alive around her.

(And the ghosts, oh, the ghosts of her soulmates always at her peripheral, Zuala and Mollymauk, haunting her so that she does not forget, will not forget, cannot forget).

They agree they still do not need to take watch as Caleb sets up his string around their bubble and snaps to make Frumpkin come back to them. He pets the fey cat once and then sends him down the tunnel to be their guard. Yasha says nothing, just enters the bubble and presses her back to solid ground and waits for sleep to take her, prays for nothing in the night.

The Stormlord does not answer her down here.

She dreams of darkness, of death, of her wife’s soft kisses and kind hands and bright eyes going dull and bright red blood, of waking up in her own grave. She wakes up to darkness, Zuala’s name on her tongue, her lips, burning her throat as a scream, but Yasha just holds her breath and squeezes her eyes against the tears that threaten to leak out.

The flowers on the back of her neck itch as the overwhelming urge to let loose dies down, and as she opens her eyes she hears the soft shifting of cloth next to her, looks over to see Jester reaching out towards her, the other woman wide awake with her sketchbook askew in her lap. Yasha lets her touch her arm with gentle fingers, eyes dull with no light but sharp, seeing straight into her; Yasha takes a deep breath and nods, pushes herself up to her feet quietly and holds a hand down to Jester. Her friend takes her hand and pulls herself up gracefully, silently, and follows Yasha out of the bubble.

There is a small amount of space between Caleb’s alarm string and the gray scale of the bubble they have been sleeping in, and Jester lets Yasha lead her right to the edge before speaking.

“Nightmares?” It’s soft, muted, and Yasha turns to look down at her friend, wonders if being underground like this is just as bad as being isolated out on the ocean was as Jester blinks up at her with those reflective eyes, violet where Molly’s had been red.

Yasha knows they are two different people, knows that Molly is dead and Jester is alive. It does not make her stop seeing the ghost of her best friend out of the corner of her eye whenever this girl she travels with touches her with careful claws and a playful tail.

“Yes,” and it’s hard, heavy, to push the words out of her mouth, “we’re going back to where my wife is killed. I keep seeing it at night. I keep remembering that I am a coward for running.” Yasha watches as Jester’s expression morphs as she speaks, the tiefling so expressive when she lets her guard down, watches as sorrow blooms across her friend’s face.

“Oh Yasha, no, you’re not a coward for trying to survive.” Jester takes her hand as she says it, cool fingers curling around her own, and Jester steps closer, looking up to maintain eye contact; Yasha feels her tail wind around her thigh and she can’t help the tears that suddenly burn her eyes at the familiarity.

“You all think I am much stronger and braver than I actually am.” It slips out just as quietly, and she can’t help but squeeze Jester’s hand back when those gentle fingers tighten around hers.

“I can’t think of anything braver than you going back to where you watched Zuala die, Yasha. I can’t think of anything braver than facing your worst memory to help your friend.” Jester’s voice doesn’t get any louder but her words get fiercer, her accent a little stronger, and Yasha blinks back tears and squeezes her hand again. They stand there in silence, in darkness, eyes locked on each other’s, Jester’s cool skin and tail bright point of reality to ground Yasha until she finds the truth tumbling out of her mouth.

“I haven’t felt brave in a very long time.” It falls onto the ground between them, these words as heavy as rocks in her stomach, shattering their peaceful silence. Jester doesn’t look startled, though, just sad, but it shifts into contemplation before Yasha’s eyes.

“I don’t think you have to feel brave to be brave. It’s not always something you feel, it’s just something you are, you know? I think that, anyway. I doubt Nott ever feels brave, but she’s definitely one of the bravest of us all.” Jester squeezes her hand in a quick pattern,  _ onetwothree _ , rushed together like Mollymauk used to, and flashes her a sad smile that tells Yasha that she learned it from the other tiefling. “I don’t know if that makes any sense, but I do know that you’re the bravest person I know, Yasha, for facing your past for us, without most of our friends even knowing.”

“You always make sense,” and for the first time since they’ve been underground Yasha doesn’t have to struggle with her words, “don’t doubt yourself. That makes sense. You make sense, Jester.” 

Time slows down, and Yasha watches as all of Jester’s walls crumble, just like they did when she tattooed the flowers on her neck, watches surprise bloom on her friend’s face, like she’s never heard that before, never been told that she’s just as real as the rest of them, watches heartbreak flash in her eyes before her cheeks turn purple and a shy smile spreads across her face.

“Well then, how about you believe I make sense, and I believe you’re brave, and we’ll believe that for each other until we believe it for ourselves?” Jester squeezes her fingers again, and then when Yasha nods she lets go and wraps her arms around Yasha’s waist, probably meaning it to be a quick little fleeting hug like on the boat. Yasha is quicker this time, though, and circles her arms around Jester’s shoulders and drops her chin to the top of her head, right between her horns, and Jester melts into her with a release of breath that is warm against Yasha’s heart.

_ Oh Molly, please don’t let me lose them too,  _ is the gut reaction that runs up her throat, a prayer to her second soulmate who she was supposed to spend forever coming home to.

It almost slips out, but Yasha lets the words settle on her tongue and dissolve, and she lets Jester pull away after a minute, smiling back at the grin on her friend’s face that brightens the darkness around them.

“I still miss Zuala every day.” Yasha doesn’t mean for it to come out, and she grimaces as she does, realizing she must have ruined the moment, but Jester’s smile doesn’t disappear, just softens as she reaches out again.

Yasha takes her hand immediately, cool fingers with claws that settle gently against her skin as her tail wraps around her other wrist.

“That’s okay. I’ll miss her with you,” and Jester says it like it’s that easy, that simple; her face is open, tender, caring, and Yasha finds herself nodding slowly and trying to smile back.

“I think that might help.” Yasha lets Jester guide her down to the ground, and they sit facing each other, knees pressed together and heads tilted in, and Jester listens, eyes wide and attentive as Yasha tells her about Zuala, her first soulmate, the love of her life. At some point Nugget wanders out of the gray bubble and sprawls out next to them, his head dropping to Jester’s thigh as he yawns, but she does not look away, just pets him with her free hand that isn’t holding Yasha’s.

She’s not sure when her words finally dry up, how long it has been or when their friends will wake, but for the first time since they have decided to go to Xhorhas she feels a little lighter, less like she is being crushed under the earth they travel through.

“We should sleep. Don’t think I didn’t notice that you were already awake.” Yasha says it softly, squeezes Jester’s fingers as she says it, and her friend opens her mouth to respond, eyebrows furrowed like she might protest, but then Nugget lets out a snore that has Jester clapping her hand over her mouth to stifle giggles that Yasha can’t help but smile at.

“Okay, you’re right.” Jester carefully nudges her puppy awake before she stands with Yasha, and as they cross the few steps back to Caleb’s protective dome Yasha thinks that maybe she is going to be okay. She watches as Nugget enters the bubble and follows him, looks at the puppy carefully walk around their friends to curl up around Beau’s head, and starts to head back toward the space near the opposite edge of the bubble she had been at before. 

A tail curls around her wrist before she can take more than two steps, though, and when Yasha looks over her shoulder she sees Jester pointing closer to the center where she had been, between Beau and Nott; it seems suddenly like too much, like after everything she cannot be this close to other people who don’t know what they’re facing, what had been lost, what they have yet to lose.

She nods and lets Jester tug her over, and she goes down willingly and presses her back to stone, seeing nothing but darkness as she stares up to the top of the bubble and tries to force air into her lungs; she closes her eyes and wonders if this is what Molly felt like waking up in his own grave.

“Good night, Yasha.” It’s a whisper, the quietest she’s ever heard Jester be, but just like that she’s alive again, turns her head and sees blue hair by her shoulder, feels her friend’s tail squeeze briefly around her wrist before loosening slightly without letting go, hears steady breathing and snoring all around her.

Yasha curls her fingers loosely around Jester’s tail and dreams of flowers blooming from a grave she needs to find and grieve at, from a grave marked by a jacket almost as colorful as the body under it, from her own skin.

Yasha dreams of a future.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this!! Please leave a comment and let me know what you think!
> 
> Title is from "My Friends" by Oh Wonder, which has been killing me with Yasha feels. Linkin Park, Andy Black, and The Greatest Showman soundtrack all got me through this one!
> 
> Special thank you to molly_mulch on Twitter for retweeting the Richard Siken quote with just the word "Yasha" and inspiring all of this! Go check out their amazing art on Twitter!
> 
> If you'd like to, you can come find me and talk to me on [tumblr](https://lovewithagirl.tumblr.com/) and [twitter!](https://twitter.com/daleytwin2/)


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